Finn had to bite his tongue to stop himself keeling over in fits of hysterics. As mean as he knew this was, it was simply too much fun not to do it. Shaking with silent mirth, he went back into his semi-invisible state and moved to the other side of the room.
When he passed the wardroom door, peering momentarily out of the window, he stopped dead. A figure was sitting in one of the chairs; a tall, imposingly-built figure, broader even than Evan. And he was staring at the door, his lip curled in a snarl. Finn caught a glance of the muzzle of a gun shoved in his belt, the cold metal gleaming evilly in the light of the room.
His heart plummeted. He knew that man. He knew exactly what that man was here for.
He knew he wouldn't leave again until Finn was dead.
Finn stood like a stone in front of the waiting room door, too terrified to move or even utter a sound.
They'd found him. After all this time on the run, all those narrow escapes and all the fear and pain, they'd found him.